When Mammets Have Strings
by BlueSpiritFire1
Summary: Completely gratuitous AU in which Zenos does not die, everyone thinks he does, and the WoL grieves the loss of their only true rival by commissioning a minion in his image in the hopes of moving on. Voodoo doll-esque issues arise and...FEELINGS take root. (Hopefully) Ambiguous WoL.
1. Chapter 1

**So um. uhhhhh...yeah. This is a thing that was born like, two days ago in a chat where I just got really into the idea of a Minion/Wind-Up/Mammet for a character having its experiences pass onto its likeness. So, you hug the minion? The person it looks like feels that hug. But, me being me, I had to find a "logical" way for it to "work" in universe. So, I thought, what if the Mammet had a part of that person's soul or flesh/blood built into them? Zenos is my 10000000% favourite so of course I was thinking of him for this but you know it could easily work for most any other character.  
**

**This is mainly me winging it and being purely self indulgent. I really don't know firsthand how everything goes down in Stormblood or post SB-SHB so...PURE GUESSWORK AND AU TERRITORY AHOY!**

**But hey I was told its good so I'M GONNA TRUST SOMEONE ELSE'S JUDGEMENT ON THIS!**

**This...is not usually the style I publish my works in...pls forgive (As I say that I look at Fragments and go HMMMMM. Maybe this is the only style I can do anything where it gets DONE.)**

* * *

**Characters**: Zenos yae Galvus, ambiguous WoL (hopefully). Tataru, Alphinaud, Lyse (secondary)

**Songs:** Howl - Florence + the Machine

* * *

When the Warrior of Light commissions a one-of-a-kind Zenos mammet, they provide a flower to the goldsmith. It's a pretty pale pink thing, but stained crimson with blood. The goldsmith thinks it strange, but preserves it with some enchanted resin, and puts it beside the mammet's delicate heart.

The mammet's purpose is not only to be a reminder of the crown prince's likeness, but also a way to let go and move on. After all, the Warrior of Light often gets wind-ups of the departed... They thought it would help, to let go of the stained flower they had held on to, bury it both figuratively and literally beneath layers of delicate mechanisms.

That backfires spectacularly.

Instead of setting the oversized minion away and only looking at it now and again, they end up always keeping the minion close, always taking it into battle because of _course_ that's where it's most animated, where it tries to attack the monsters from atop their chocobo's back (They made a minion harness on the saddle just for these occasions after it nearly got trampled underfoot in its attempt to join the fray). Always making sure it's clean and shiny and its armour and bustle have no damage, always brushing its hair free of knots.

They find more and more that the mammet is not a way to let go, but a way to hold on.

* * *

Meanwhile, laid up in his chambers in the Garlean capital, Zenos is overwhelmed by strange feelings. A brush going through his hair, hands around his waist, _being lifted up_ (that was extremely disconcerting), being held, a kiss on the top of his head. Sometimes feeling like his arm is pulled up, like someone is checking him over.

And then there are times when he's so _angry_ for no discernible reason.

He can't know that a world away, the Warrior of Light is injured, bleeding, wounded in a fight, by a blade that is not his. That the mammet is watching, feeling, seeing the Warrior forge on because they cannot afford to stop. How unfair. How wrong that the strong be shackled to the need of the weak.

* * *

The prince's blood has stained not only the petals, but the mammet's heart. Day by day, the mammet is less wind-up minion with programmed actions, and more like a tiny Zenos with no voice. Day by day, actual Zenos feels more and more that his attentions are divided, that he has better things to do that sit in Garlemald, sit in _bed_, recovering. _They're meant to be hunting down an S Rank target in Coerthas-_

…Wait, where did that come from?

Sometimes when he's alone and he closes his eyes, when he focuses, he can almost see a whole different scene. Usually it's from a very, _very_ low down perspective, but always there's someone in front of him, someone much bigger and taller that he can't recognise. Absurd. He does not _follow!_

Sometimes he will sleep, and he will dream - dreams are hard to come by since the Resonant - of an unfamiliar landscape, of camping under the stars and other wild weather phenomena he has never seen before, of being held in someone's arms, of sitting on their lap. Sometimes he will feel a steady, deep breath fluttering down over his head. But he never sees their face.

Because the mammet never looks, not when it's uncovered. It doesn't need to, so he never sees.

* * *

It's when the 'visions' shift, from the wilderness to civilisation that Zenos starts to realise something is off. He sees Ala Mhigo, after the rebellion succeeded. He sees them rebuilding, as if he is there now. He sees the faces of vaguely familiar savages. He hears the outcries and _feels_ the glowers on his back.

_"Where did you even __**find**__ that thing?" A woman asks, almost disgusted. _

_"Are you seriously going to get angry at a __**mammet**__?" _

_"No it's just...I __**know**__ you have a dozen other ones. Why would you bring one of __**him**__ here?" _

_"Are we going to have a problem?" _

_"No. Just don't expect it to stay in one piece if more citizens see it."_

_"I'm sorry."_ He hears later, whispered quietly into his hair. _"It's not your fault. It's just... they're proud, you know? And he was the one in charge...a face to hate...even if he wasn't the one who took Ala Mhigo's freedom in the first place."_ A sigh. _"I never should have come back here..."_

* * *

Zenos is in the middle of a meeting - a Primus medicus is trying to say something about his recovery and when he'll be able to travel - near enough dozing off from the sheer boredom, when he's struck with another scene.

A clear day, the ground blanketed in pink flowers in an empty courtyard. He knows that view...he knows that place. _How could he forget?_

A figure moves beside him and he knows without looking, it's the faceless one. They stand in the flowers and kneel, press their hand to the soil beyond the stems.

_"You fool. You bloody fool."_ They hiss, bowing their head.

For once, for once he sees their face unmasked.

He jolts upright, surging out of his chair without realising. The Warrior. His enemy. _His friend_.

He leaves without a word, ignoring the questioning calls after him.

How loathsome they looked with tears dripping down their cheeks, teeth clenched. Not at all an expression befitting his dear enemy.

And as suddenly as he began walking, he stops, freezes dead in a corridor

_"I miss you. I __**miss**__ you! How could I miss you this much? You damn monster! How dare you! You had no right-!"_ There is anger, a voice, shaking.

His Warrior is ripping up the flowers, supressing their cries behind gritted teeth.

The mammet is looking at them, the expression of neutrality on his painted face not at all fitting the hollow ache it - and he - feels.

When the Warrior of Light stares at the wind-up, they burst into sobs. They hold it tightly – crushingly – and bawl into its hair.

_"Why did you leave me?! You coward! You were my equal, the one human being who could stand against me! You had no right to leave! Selfish, greedy-!"_ The rest of the words a consumed by tears and crying.

He has attendants cautiously gathering around him now. He's still not quite healed from his event in Ala Mhigo so they fret over him often, but their presence is unwanted. He snarls at them to leave him, and staggers back to his room, the distant sobs of his Warrior still ringing in his ears.

"..._As if you were the only one who craved a worthy opponent_."

Zenos sits in his chambers, refusing all but his dinner, scheming, planning, _feeling the Warrior's tears soak into his hair, their arms tight around him as the sun sets red_.

He knows he is well enough along in his recovery. Travel will be possible in two weeks. Two weeks to prepare. He will increase his training, sharpen his claws - not that he ever allowed them to go dull - and then, _then_ he will strike. It was always his intent to fight the Warrior again. He thought his death assured, and is still at a loss to how he survived, but he will use his second chance to fight them. Again and _again_. But now, with this...strange conduit, this window into his friend's location, the work of tracking his prey is over. He pours his attention into regaining his strength.

* * *

"Might I ask," Alphinaud broaches one day, as he sits with the Warrior for lunch, "what spurred you into commissioning one of the prince?" He's respectful. He knows that loss to the Warrior is a painful thing. He just did not expect them to feel for their enemy greatly enough to have a mammet made in Zenos' likeness. They shrug, not able or wanting to give an answer, and bite their sandwich, watching the clouds.

Alphinaud is not stupid. He was the first to arrive, with Lyse. He saw them, hands bloody, tearing at the fabric of their own clothes, desperate to stop the bleeding of a man most assuredly dead.

He remembered their desperate shriek. _"HELP ME!"_

He remembered employing what little healing magic he knew in a vain attempt to save the dead legatus' life.

He remembered the way they bared their teeth in a silent scream when he said there was nothing they could do, that Zenos yae Galvus was dead.

They had sent the prince's body to the nearest Garlean camp, still with the torn scrap of cloth tied around his neck, and that was that.

But evidently, the Warrior of Light still felt for the death of that monster. Alphinaud would never claim to understand the Warrior's mind or heart, but after all the hardships they had stood beside him through, he would swear to support them in this.

* * *

**Part 1/3 End**

**This is...uh...kind of a mess. And kind of my first time really writing anything for 14, let alone Zenos - who deserves only the best. AND the first time writing a (hopefully) ambiguous WoL.**

**The other two chapters are done, but i'll post the next one tomorrow.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well that was certainly not the update gap I had planned. Context: I still have no idea about the layout of Ala Mhigo or the way things progress in SB-SHB so all of this is just guesswork and fanciful thoughts. ******Part 2, ahoy!****

* * *

**Songs: **Destroy Everything You Touch - Ladytron

* * *

A strange malady is quickly overcoming the Scions, Zenos learns. They are dropping, one by one, into a deathless slumber. He has seen through his window into their life, the Warrior sitting by their beds, waiting for them to recover.

He is in the midst of training when a vision slaps him, _hard_.

He sees only the Warrior buckling, falling to their knees and clutching their head in agony, before they completely collapse, sprawling on the ground.

The oversized mammet is alarmed and rushes to its master's side, daring to shake them as much as its tiny little automaton hands can. At no response, it panics.

_He_ panics. He watches the world rush by at a toddler's height, still ignorant of whatever vessel he's watching from, rushing through the halls. It stops at a woman in a red gown. Zenos vaguely remembers her as a one of the rebels.

"What the hell-? Where's the Warrior? Their pet shouldn't be this close to me unsupervised."

* * *

Lyse scowls at the mammet with the face of the Viceroy. She knows it's stupid, that it's only a toy! But it's got his face, and she really hated that bastard. But then it tugs on her dress, frantic, running in little circles before tugging again.

She frowns. Something is wrong. For starters, the Warrior of Light would never let their precious incarnation of evil run around alone in Ala Mhigo.

The mammet looks like it's about to crawl up her leg and pull her hair when she focuses on it again. "Alright, I get it, what is it?" _Twelve save her for talking to this mammet like it understands_.

But it takes off, running fast as it can (which she finds is ridiculously fast because mammets can keep up with their owners even when they're spurred by movement magic) and Lyse chases, sprinting down the halls, toward the Warrior's room.

The wind-up is already in there, pushing and prodding the fallen body of the Warrior of Light as she enters the open door.

"No...Twelve, no!" She drops on the other side of her friend, hauling them up and over, checking their vitals before her shoulders slump.

"Not another one..." she breathes.

* * *

The wind-up does not leave the Warrior's bed as they're tended to. It sits, diligently by their arm. When a stranger comes by – another new physician to see if they can isolate the problem – it draws a large toothpick-like sword from its tiny replicated revolver holster and brandishes it, until either Lyse or Tataru say that it's okay, the stranger is going to try and help.

Tataru takes it upon herself to keep the mammet itself in good condition. "They'd be devastated if you were a mess when they woke up." She explained, the first time she tried to mend a little rip it had torn in one of the sashes around its waist. It tolerates Tataru's care well enough. Too much handling, however, earns an eerie stare that the lalafell swears would be a scowl if it could articulate its eyebrows.

One evening, when Tataru is late in finishing her paperwork, she checks on the slumbering Scions past midnight. It's when she reaches the Warrior's room that something is gravely amiss.

The mammet guardian is absent, and instead an enormous cloaked figure sits beside the bed.

Tataru squeaks instinctively, and they turn their head sharply to see her.

_What a cold blue eye, what a deadly stare. _

She turns to run, hears the heavy footsteps, and then suddenly a hand grabs her by the scruff. Immediately she freezes as the ground rushes away from her. She is extremely unaccustomed to someone using her lalafellan stature against her so physically and so disrespectfully. She is also extremely aware that she is _extremely_ at their mercy.

Tataru is turned around like a kitten to face the stranger.

Only to find that the face under the hood is not as unfamiliar as she thought.

"Mammet?" She mumbles.

This time, the eyebrows on that face _do_ scowl.

The truth of the situation is suddenly made abundantly clear, and Tataru nearly faints.

It's not the mammet. It's not the mammet. _It's not the bloody mammet_.

How in the seven hell's is Zenos yae Galvus here?! He's dead! He's meant to be dead! How did he know to be here?! What if he's done something to the Warrior?! Oh gods he's going to drop her out the window!

* * *

"You're late."

Tataru thought she misheard. "P-Pardon?" Her voice was little more than a squeak.

Krile told her how terrible the crown prince was in person, how ominous, how threatening - in a way only a fellow lalafell would understand. Tataru thought that the mammet was surely a good capturing of his likeness, so surely the man himself hadn't been so ominous!

Well, that assumption was dashed entirely.

He pursed his lips. "Do stop shaking."

She couldn't.

Zenos nearly rolled his eyes and dropped her onto the bed at his Warrior's feet. "Your life is not in danger." His voice was empty, bored, like he said it as a platitude.

Tataru sat still as he returned to his chair. She had questions – _many_ – but dared not voice them.

"Carry on with your duties." Zenos prompted.

Tataru summoned all her courage to crawl over the bed, around the Warrior to check their temperature, make sure they were comfortable. She sat back in her heels when she was done. Zenos hadn't moved. He had barely pulled his gaze from the Warrior's face.

"...Where is the wind-up?" She wondered aloud.

"I have disposed of it."

Tataru stared.

"They shall have no need of a toy now that I am here."

Tataru looked aghast. "That doesn't give you the right to trash their favourite wind-up!" He stared coldly. Tataru swallowed. "I mean...the mammet _itself_ is important to them. What did you do to it?"

His stare eased and he pointed out the window.

Tataru's eyes widened and she nearly rolled off the bed in her rush to look out it.

"Oh!" Her heart sank as she saw the broken pieces of the automaton strewn about on a balcony some stories below.

Overcome with a swell of grief, she scowled at the Garlean. "How could you?! Even when it was made in your likeness!"

He arched a brow. "That is precisely why."

Tataru shook her head. "You don't understand at all! The Warrior adored it! They took it everywhere! You may as well have murdered their best friend!"

Tataru stormed to the door, and when Zenos' made to get up and stop her, she huffed. "You stay right where you are! When the Warrior wakes up, _they_ can deal with you!"

He settled back down as she left. "I never intended to go elsewhere."

What a strange little person, full of false bravado. At least she wasn't dumb enough to think anyone else capable of dealing with him.

Zenos stared at the window. He hadn't intended to break the doll. It was just...a shock. And annoying. Having to juggle two sets of view of the same moment was too much. Two sets of _feelings_. The mammet had been aggressive toward him, waving a tiny Ame-no-Habakiri at him when he had come in. It was furious, trying to stab him when he picked it up off the warrior's bed. Zenos had felt the rage from the creature, the little automaton that had been his window into the Warrior's life. He could feel even then, his own hand on the mammet's scruff. It was disconcerting. He had tried to lock it away in the closet, only for the large wind-up to bang on the door incessantly. So, he had picked it up and simply dropped it out the window.

He had regretted it the instant it happened. The instant its little clockwork body had shattered on the tiles below, he felt it. He had nearly blacked out. But still, Zenos believed it was for the best.

"…Best friend…" He blinked slowly, looking back down at his unconscious enemy.

_"You poor thing!" _

He scowled. Not again! Not that damned duality, _again_!

He felt disjointed, like someone was touching him all over but the touch itself was fragmented. _"Oh! Thank the Twelve! The heart is still intact! Don't you worry, we'll have you good as new in no time! Although...the rest of you will need replacing. Hm? What's this? What a strange flower... Was this inside you all along? I suppose it must have been."_

He could hear the little caregiver's voice, but there was no image to match. Only the strange warped touches and her voice. Even then, it was all so muffled and distorted.

* * *

Tataru sends the mammet pieces off to Ul'dah to be repaired, to be remade exactly as it was, bloody flower, heart and all. She's very adamant that it be an exact replica. Meanwhile, she realises that Zenos was very literal about not leaving. He's as dedicated as the mammet was. She tries to make conversation - for her own sake, really. But even Urianger talked more than the Warrior's unexpected, unwelcome visitor.

Zenos finds he doesn't mind this little savage. She's _tolerable_, and has been caring for his friend, for his mammet figure, so he feels like he knows her somewhat already. She snatches bits and pieces of food from the kitchen for him after the third time she visits for a check-up and he has barely moved.

When alone, Zenos mulls over the things the little person has said about the mammet. It was important to his Warrior. He dares to wonder if that meant _he_ was important to his Warrior. His sleeping, motionless warrior. "...Wake soon, my friend."

Tataru works very hard to keep his presence a secret. She, like Alphinaud, knows that their friend wouldn't be so attached to a mammet without reason. They obviously felt something toward the man it was styled after. She just hopes she's doing the _right_ thing. It tears at her conscience to keep such a devastating secret from Lyse and Krile, but… She knows well how much pain their dear Warrior has suffered.

It's _very_ difficult to get him to stay hidden in the closet when Lyse or a chirurgeon comes around. The only thing that stops her from resorting to physically pulling his coat is her fear.

"Where's the tiny terror?" Lyse asks when she notices the missing mammet.

It's not a _total_ lie that comes from Tataru's mouth. "Oh, it fell off the bed and broke, so I had it sent to the goldsmith's for repairs. It should be good as new before they wake up!" Lyse makes a face and sarcasm drips like venom. "Won't that be _wonderful?_"

Tataru leaves with them, so he doesn't get to ask his question until later in the evening.

"Why are you having it fixed?"

Tataru is confused by the question. Why _wouldn't_ she have it fixed?

That's when he slowly tells her about the conduit, that its vision and his conflict and overwhelm.

"Well, there's a lesson even you can learn from this."

He's mildly amused at such a statement.

"You ought treat yourself better."

* * *

The mammet returns and at once tries to stab him. Zenos keeps it at bay with his boot, disinterested. Tataru ends up being the mediator. Now the Warrior has Zenos on one side of their bed, and his mammet on the other side.

* * *

When Zenos' catches wind of Garlemald's new weapon, Black Rose, he's livid. He will never let a cowardly method like that steal _his_ prey. So he leaves, not a word not a sign of his presence left behind. Only the mammet, watching, guarding. Strangely, he is somewhat glad of the mammet's usually infuriating vision. It's as though he hasn't even left.

* * *

Zenos is the first one to know when they wake, when they return from the First, as his blade draws the blood of his father.

He feels their arms around him, holding the wind-up close, squeezing tightly, as he battles the wolf and the dragon. Oh, what euphoria! As though he is being praised for his battle!

He abandons Garlemald, _his empire by right of birth_, as soon as able. They have moved the Scions and the Warrior to Rising Stones by now, so there he goes, following the mammet's visions to find them.

Sometimes they will hide their face against the mammet, and the little doll will try and pet their hair with both its tiny arms in an attempt to comfort. The Warrior of Light is shaken, does not talk of things on the First. They cry, a lot. They hug their little mechanised doll a lot more than before.

Tataru tries to tell them about what happened, only getting so far as to say that the mammet needed repairs so if something is different- "Oh thank you for taking care of him, Tataru!" They run off, desperate to have their own space.

Tataru never has the chance to warn them that they may be visited by a 'ghost'.

* * *

**Part 2/3 End**

**If you are by any chance enjoying this mish-mashed work, please let me know by dropping a little review! It really makes my day!**


	3. Chapter 3

**PART 3! Last part! I've said from the start this is all very self-indulgent so...  
**

**Anyway, enjoy and thanks for sticking along for the ride!**

* * *

**Songs: **Power and Control - Marina & the Diamonds, Everybody Knows - Sigrid, We Must Be Killers - Mikki Ekko

* * *

They're sitting behind the crystal tree in Rathefrost, behind the Fogfens. Knees brought up to their chest, red eyes and tear-stained face looking out over Silvertear Lake, at the _Agrius_ and Midgardsormr's old corpse coiled around it, to the Crystal Tower beyond. The Gloom is thick in the air today. The mammet of their dead might've-been paramour sits beside them. Much of them is glad to be back on the Source, back home, away from that place and its new memories, new pains.

They would almost embrace the agonies of Ishgard and rebellion instead of think of those new hurts. If only those old thorns did not still dig as deep as when they were fresh. How many times must their heart be twisted and stabbed and wrung out for the power in their veins? How many friends must be buried until they can stop? Will they _ever_ be allowed to? More and more, they suspect the answer is no.

"How miserable a sight."

They do not lift their head, do not give credence to their new hallucination. Hardly a surprise, they think. A bit of a surprise it took so long to give form to a false imagining of _him_, though. Maybe the mammet kept it at bay.

"You certainly took your time to wake, hero."

The Warrior does not move, does not acknowledge.

Zenos narrows his eyes. His lips move. He says a word he's heard through the mammet's senses, a name used by commoners that his Warrior came across in their travels, people who do not use the titles that everyone is so careful to use.

He says their _name_.

It's like the world snaps.

The Warrior of Light's _world_, snaps.

Their back stiffens, their head turns. Such an alien sound that reaches them, such an oddity - their name from Zenos' voice. Not beast, or savage or hero.

Such a thing cannot be imagined.

They stand, staring, eyes wide, body locked, but no emotion to be read except shock.

He feels their eyes raking over him, visually inspecting, settling on his neck, on the pale flesh-toned scar that sits horizontally over the left side.

Steel on steel rattles through the mountains, sings across the lake.

How delightful it is to see such a feral gleam in his _dear_ friend's eyes, to see them bear their teeth as they suddenly bring a colossal greatsword down upon his head!

Their lunge came in an instant, without any warning save the dilation of their eyes and the muffled twist of aether around them that he only perceived thanks to the Resonant.

They roar, enraged, black shadows swirling around their blade. He's forced back, to push them off and retreat some steps as the ground explodes with great black claws around them.

"Your strength has only grown, beast! How you managed that while asleep, I _will_ envy." he purrs, delighted by the surprise.

The Warrior thunders after him, aether coiling around their body, consuming their clothes before bursting out in shards of white, leaving them garbed in black heavy armour. Over and over they strike, swinging the enormous blade like it's nothing, moving with its momentum, infusing each strike with darkness and power, bearing down on him. When he steps out of reach, they extend their arm, bursts of darkness hitting him in the face and chest. He stops dead and instead takes a step forward, compelled beyond his own will.

_Carve and spit_, the blade slashes at him three times, two of which he blocks. The last, heavy downward strike comes from above, backed by a terrible howl. He feels the strain of catching the blow in the steel of the Swell. The blade will shatter if his beast continues to rage like this, and he's loathed to find another blade of its quality so far from Garlemald and his collection. He needs to switch to Ame-no-Habakiri. But that need in itself brings such a _flood_ of emotion to his chest.

"How wonderful you have become."

His whisper is like a prayer. In that moment, were he a less educated man, he might believe the gods real and his prayers answered, his wishes heard and granted in the form of the new might acquired by his enemy.

They danced back, leaping away from him to stand at the top of the hill, a strange look upon their face.

Not like he could name emotions he didn't understand.

Not like he could realise the gentle smile he wore, the joy that sparkled in his eyes.

Not like he could understand why it confused and tormented the Warrior so.

He sheathes the unadorned Swell and draws out the sunset orange blade from its place in his holster. "Come! Let our dance never end!"

Such focus, such a singular frame of mind as eluded him since the mammet's view invaded his daily life, spilling out of dreams. But now, everything is _clear_. Of course it's clear. Everything is _clear_ when it comes to his Warrior. Everything, but the constant, nagging scrambling feeling in his chest that rears its head when he feels what that damnable toy feels.

But the Warrior only stares. He sees the blind fury in their eyes fade, _falter_.

"It's really you...?"

"Were you expecting another?"

They shake their head furiously. "No! No, you-! You're supposed to be dead! You died! You were bleeding everywhere, you died! You-!"

He's not expecting the Warrior of Light to break so thoroughly, so abruptly.

They slump to their knees in a heartbeat, sword clattering to the ground, black shadows evaporating. There's a somewhat sour taste in his mouth when he realises there will like as not be no glorious fight at the moment.

"Why are you here!?" they scream, voice cracking. "How dare you come to me?!" They hold their head, hide their face, gauntleted fingers clawing at their scalp.

He scowls. "Which is it you are so angered by - my apparent death or my survival? Do not curse me for one and then the other."

How can he forget their outburst in the Menagerie, the almost bone-breaking squeeze of their arms, and the endless sobs?

They open their eyes, staring at him between the gaps of their fingers.

"Do not continue the farce of your anger." he sneers. "Not when you parade about with _that_!" he points his blade at the mammet, which has so far been silent, watching only. "_Not when you hold __**it**__ so close_." he growls.

"How do you-!?" Now they cover their face to hide the reddening of their cheeks.

"Oh, if only I knew." he hissed. "For _months_ my days have been plagued by your affections! How you torment me, beast! When first I came to you, you were lost to that dreamless sleep. I waited. I _waited_! Have you any idea what torture that is, to know such touches by _proxy_, only to be denied in the flesh!?"

The Warrior of Light only stares, frozen, mortified, mind racing as to how such a thing could have happened. It was a mammet! Just a mammet! It shouldn't-!

Thoughts rudely interrupted by the crunch of determined footsteps over the rocky soil, by the looming shadow, by the abrupt sudden sound of that ridiculous revolver holster slamming down on the ground, kickstand out.

He crouches before his warrior, his beast, enemy, _friend._ He pulls their hands off the face by the wrists.

"_Take responsibility for your actions!_" he demands.

He _feels_. He doesn't like how everything feels like it's teetering over a ledge. So frantic, so desperate. Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful of him! All because of his friend, all because they couldn't let go.

"Why did you grieve me?" he begs. "Why did you not leave my memory to die and move on?!" He wants to know. He needs to know, to hear the words said _to him_. His hands still curl tightly around their wrists.

The Warrior flounders and twists, almost as though if they could break free of the restraints they could be free of the questions.

"_Why_ would you be so tender?! Tell me!" His voice betrays the ache in his chest.

They stop twisting, falling slack.

"_How could you expect me to do otherwise?_"

He stares.

"I never wanted you to _die_. I never..." Their head drops, body trembling.

"Why would I want to lose my only equal!?" They shout suddenly. "You know what it's like, to be pointed like a weapon! They all distance themselves, they pretend to know but they can't!"

When the Warrior lifts their head to look at him, there are tears.

"You asked if I would accept you and when I did, you mocked me! You called me friend and tore it away just as quickly! I hate you! I hate you!" The struggle renews, but still he holds their wrists tight. "I was serious! I wanted-! ...I wanted _you!_ As if I didn't know you were a monster! As if I didn't know you were broken! AS IF I'M ANY BETTER!"

They struggle and writhe, bringing one leg out from under them to press against his abdomen, to push him away.

"So I indulged! I lived, and acted like you had too!" They're shouting angrily now, the hot tears that fall down their face running out of control. "I took comfort in your memory and forgot how insufferable you are! And it was fine until I went back there!" They're still trying to thrash and wriggle out of his grasp, but his superior size and physicality makes it a very difficult task. "I hate you! For making me feel like I wasn't alone, and then driving it home that I WAS!"

Suddenly the Warrior pulled their arms back, wrenching him off his feet to fall forward onto his knees. Automatically, he let go of one wrist to stop himself from pitching over completely. He was keenly aware of a hard, spiked knee-plate now pressed against his sternum and their foot all but stabbed into his gut.

They were balancing on their rear, leg up to keep him distanced, but arm down to manipulate his grip into pulling him closer.

"I'm not a hero! Everyone calls me that, but I'm not!" they hiss, staring into his eyes. "I'm just expected to be! At the end of it all, I'm just a hound set upon the enemies of the world! _I thought you understood_."

There's a vindictive gleam in their eyes. "But you _abandoned me_. Why shouldn't I give my all to a doll who is more loyal than anything with a beating heart!? _Why shouldn't I make you suffer, forever!?_"

He frowns, eyes narrowed, and acts quickly before they can struggle. He lurches back on his knees and lifts them up with him - pulls them off their precarious balance completely, wrapping his free arm around their waist and squeezing them to him, even as they sprawl awkwardly against his body.

"Because..."

He exhales, pressing his face into their hair. It feels like his skin is buzzing, tingling. He realises how hollow the sensations he'd come to know were in comparison to reality.

"A doll cannot give you anything back."

The Warrior growls against his shirt. "In what world would you give me anything but pain!?"

He purses his lips. "Stubborn to remain blind, aren't you? Very well. I am aware that savages lack a certain intelligence. I will be _patient_."

"_**I**_ won't be!" they snap, trying to break free of him. He only holds them closer, tighter, buries his face into their hair again and makes himself comfortable.

He'll take what he can get.

* * *

To his beast's credit, they struggled for a long time before finally succumbing to his hold and tiredly (angrily) slumping against him with little more than a mumbled "Bastard.". The Gloom had dispersed, the daylight along with it, leaving a full starry night in its wake. The crystal tree and the crystal-rooted soil around it cast a soft blue glow over them. Part of him craved a stretch, but he was determined to remain put.

It's strange. He can see the mammet, but he can't see it seeing him. That is still one puzzle in need of solving.

His Warrior breathes in deeply once, then relaxes, body completely easing in his arms. The aether swarms around them, the bursts again like a shell, and the heavy armour is gone, leaving them one more in their day-to-day wear. A seed of triumph blooms in his chest, something like a lesser form of that once-tasted joy he felt in Ala Mhigo. He has outlasted his dear, _dear_ friend, and now enjoys the fruits of his endurance.

He shifts them into a more comfortable position, stretches out his legs and sits them on his lap. His arms loop comfortably around them, holding their body to his, delighted by the contact. He despises how _utterly giddy_ it makes him, how the warmth between their bodies spreads to his soul, how _well_ his enemy fits in his arms. It's disgusting. Utterly disgusting.

It's wonderful.

He watches them sleep. It's different to before. It's softer, their breathing deeper, a little bit of a scowl on their brow. He's possessed by the desire to touch their face. So he does. He traces their jawline, ghosts his thumb just under their bottom lip, gently taps his finger to the tip of their nose.

He doesn't realise he's smiling all the while.

The sounds of tiny rapid footsteps draws his attention. His mammet pitter-patters past them and stands sentry beside the tree, watching the path down the mountain.

Zenos exhales and lets his eyes slip shut. He _is_ tired. Barely more than four hours rest was snatched on his way to Mor Dhona. There's no possible better place to sleep than with his beast snug in his arms.

* * *

When the Warrior wakes, they immediately know things are different. They are being held by arms much too large and long to belong to anyone but _one_ person. A gentle breath flutters down their face. A slow heartbeat thumps in their ear, beneath their head. It's a challenge to look up, to test if the illusion will break.

_It holds_.

They could cry - again - to see that face, so peaceful, so rested, but now without the blood gurgling from his neck. They're angry and aching all at once. They could punch him and a moment later, break every bone in his body for how tightly they want to hold him.

He's real. _Real_. Alive and whole. And _holding them_. No, it must be a dream. It must be-

They reach out to take hold of one of his hands, to hold it in theirs. How ridiculously large his hands are. They trace the lines on his palm - a detail the mammet lacks, of course. They weave their fingers between his and bring his hand to their lips, kissing his knuckles before holding it to their chest.

They do not sleep again, only hold onto him and listen to his peaceful breathing, only stay blessedly curled up to him.

* * *

It's not hard to tell when he wakes. He sighs, the noise somewhat catching in his throat and sounding like a purr.

"...You remained."

"I did."

"Is my hand such a comfort?" he teases, realising why he is unable to move that arm.

"It is."

The tease falls from his voice, replaced instead with a pain. "Have you any idea what you've done to me?"

They meet his gaze, and he knows they are unrepentant. "I would ask the same of you. I was accepting of being the world's weapon...until you."

He could die all over again when they lift one of their hands away from his, reach for his face, only to hesitate an inch away, like they're afraid.

He pushes his face against their palm, forcing it to hold his face, shutting his eyes and reveling in the touch. When their thumb brushes his cheek, he shivers. How many times have they blessed the wind-up with such a touch that he received only an after-image of?

"Would you indulge me, my savage?" he whines, breath tight.

"How?" they whisper.

"...Give me everything you would give that puppet. Hold me. Do not…_let me go_."

He does not open his eyes, does not want to see any possibility of anger or contempt or rejection.

So he misses the glimmer of withheld tears in their eyes, the relieved smile that dares to break across their lips.

But he feels their hand slide from his face, only to reach up further and run through his hair, to comb through it with their fingers. Yes. _Yes_. Again the sensation is ten-fold in intensity, the two experiences incomparable in quality.

His hand, still woven in theirs, tightens its grip as their hand brushes the side of his face softly.

"You're too big for some things, you know?" they mumble. He represses a huff.

"But," He feels the sickening rise of panic as they shift, as they let go of him completely and pull themselves free of his arms. "I can work around that."

All at once he feels their arms wrapped tight around his ribs, under his arms, feels their face against his chest.

He lets slip a whimper and they squeeze tighter, nuzzle against him.

"Why are you shaking?" they ask softly.

"I am not-" He stops upon realising that he _is_. "...I don't know."

"Should I st-" "_No!_" he hisses. They look up at his face, his brow, scrunched so tightly, like he's solving some incomprehensible problem.

When they slide their arms back, he bares his teeth and quickly pins them. "I _said_-" "I'm not letting go." His Warrior coos. He is hesitant to let them free, but does.

Their hands cradle his face and he melts at the touch, brows arching up through the scowl. How desperate he looks. The Warrior stares, drinks it in as they hold his face. He's almost breathless.

"Relax. Breathe. _It's just the two of us_." They whisper. He struggles to bring his racing heart under control, steadying himself with deep breaths.

"I am...so _very_ unaccustomed to this." he admits breathily.

"I know."

He could _weep_ when they guide his head down and stretch up to press their lips to his forehead, right beside his third eye. His insides churn and flutter when they then rest their forehead to his, bump their nose to his and just hold the position, hold his face, share his breath.

"I hate how much I could love you."

Zenos is the one who crumbles then. "_Stop_." he croaks, the shaking worsening.

When his Warrior pulls him down to press his head into their shoulder, he goes, clinging to them as their arms wrap around his shoulders.

Neither one speaks nor moves but for breathing, until he steadies and he leans back, slow to look into their eyes.

"Why would you say such a dreadful thing?"

"Because it is a dreadful pain, and you deserve to suffer it with me."

A frenzy grips his heart as his Warrior of Light holds his head with one hand, thumb on his cheek, and buries their face against _his_ neck. This time they are the one shaking in his arms as they breathe him in.

"Swear to me, swear to me on whatever you hold highest, that you won't do such a thing to yourself ever again! Swear you won't leave me alone in the world!"

"...Is that all?" he says, half teasing, half wondering how selfish the world's dear 'champion' truly was.

"Zenos!"

It's a warning growl and desperate plea all at once. It sounds like music in his ears.

He sighs and pushes the side of his face against theirs, relishing the contact.

"On one condition."

The Warrior waits.

"All of this... All of your _affectionate gestures_...all of them are mine."

He shivers at the laugh that tickles his neck.

"Is that all?"

His own words, thrown against him as his warrior delicately kisses his neck - the long, clean scar that mars it.

"You fool. As if they were for anyone else."

* * *

**3/3 End**


End file.
